


Comfort

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Bright Young Things, Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Break Up, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 04:57:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19370107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: After a break-up, Miles seeks out a shoulder to cry on.





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Comfort - Traduction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19416388) by [Rikka_kun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rikka_kun/pseuds/Rikka_kun)



Miles had his hand over his eyes as he rushed in, as if shielding them from a bright light, but Aziraphale had seen this before, and was on his feet before Miles could make his way entirely across the room. He ran right to Aziraphale’s chest, whereupon he pressed his face into the warm heat there, sobbing into the soft wool of his jumper.

“Shh, shh,” Aziraphale whispered, locking the shop’s front door with but a thought - there were no customers inside, thank goodness - and he gently took Miles by the forearm, leading him into the backroom.

“--and,” Miles went on as Aziraphale finished making the cocoa, the whole time plastered close to Aziraphale’s side, “he just-- he said, well, that’s it, then, it’s over, and in any case, I don’t think you have ever been interesting, Miles, only pretty.”

Aziraphale tutted. “That’s not true at all, my dear, and you know it.”

Miles sobbed in earnest, and when Aziraphale sat down on the overstuffed sofa, Miles fell upon him, half in his lap, mostly pressing once more against Aziraphale’s chest to find his comfort there. Setting the mugs on the table beside them, Aziraphale let out low, soothing noises, rubbing Miles’ back.

This had hardly been the first dramatic break-up. Aziraphale had no doubt it would not be the last.

He pressed a kiss to the side of Miles’ brow, feeling the young man shake.

“Where’s Agatha?” Aziraphale asked. “You can’t stay with her for a few days?”

“Oh, she’s ill,” Miles said miserably. “She’s got this horrible thing that will take a few weeks to disperse - I’m not to visit her whilst she’s contagious, but of course I sent flowers, and chocolates, and some books. I am sorry to bother you, Ezra, really--”

“Don’t be sorry, dear boy,” Aziraphale said, shaking his head, and he gave Miles a gentle squeeze. “I’ll put up the guest bedroom for you, if you like, or you can sleep down here on the sofa, while I work. And then we’ll see about finding you a more appropriate beau, hm?”

“Oh, but, Ezra, Eddie is a  _painter--”_

“Dearest child, Eddie was a cad, and now behind you.”

Miles sniffles, more of a laugh this time than a sob, and Aziraphale keeps on stroking his back in easy, rhythmic circles until he slows, his head relaxing on Aziraphale’s shoulder, and he sleeps.

Reaching with his other hand, Aziraphale dials the telephone, and draws it to his ear.

“Crowley?”

“Aziraphale?”

“I don’t suppose you might assemble some dreadful young men, that we might organise them out somewhere, perhaps to Brighton?”

“Maitland with you?”

“Asleep on my shoulder. Bad break-up, dear boy.”

“Ah. Yeah, angel. I can swing that. Want me to come by?”

“Would you mind awfully?”

“Not at all. Gimme a few minutes to finish up here, and I’ll bring wine. Talk to you soon.”

“Bye bye.”

Miles stirred, wrapping his arms more tightly about Aziraphale’s torso. “Wish I could have what you two have,” he mumbled, eyes still closed. “No one’s ever loved me like he loves you.”

“Don’t be silly, dear,” Aziraphale said, his voice soft as he played with Miles’ hair. “Anthony and I love you most dearly, and Agatha adores you. As do your friends - that Adam, young Nina...”

Miles sighed. “But a husband, Ezra. I should wish to be married by now.”

Aziraphale said nothing. He merely reached for his cocoa, sipping at it as Miles’ breathing evened out, his head going limp against Aziraphale’s chest, his hands slackening their hold. “Sweet dreams,” he murmured against Miles’ hair, and allowed the barest fragment of a miracle to make it so.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up [on Dreamwidth](https://dictionarywrites.dreamwidth.org/2287.html). You can send requests [on Tumblr](http://patricianandclerk.tumblr.com/ask), too. Requests always open. Check out [Fuck Yeah, Gabriel! too](https://fuckyeahgabrielgoodomens.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Remember that [the Tadfield Advertiser](https://tadfield-advertiser.dreamwidth.org/517.html) and the [Good Omens Prompt Meme](https://onthedisc.dreamwidth.org/9084.html) are both up and running, and people should definitely go leave prompts and fills on both!!


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